


Clothes Maketh the Man

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Angel: the Series RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is David wearing Chris Kane's shirt? Or why is Chris wearing, David Boreanaz's shirt? And does, Amy Acker know more than she's saying?</p>
<p>
  <img/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Clothes Maketh the Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ckanerock](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ckanerock).



Clothes Maketh the Man

Amy was chatting to Dave, stroking his shirt, breaching the gap between them because she’d missed Dave being around, missed his smile, his sense of fun, missed the bond that had developed between them on set. Dave was family, they all were and Amy missed them all but Dave was like an older brother, always on hand to offer a shoulder, a smile, a hug and then suddenly it was over and she had to make the most of the few stolen moments together. Moments like now when they could pretend everything was the same that nothing had changed. She stepped closer, smiled at the camera, content just to be near him again, to feel him close; she eased one arm around his waist, leaned into him and felt him step closer, felt his body relax against hers and knew he was smiling too.

Amy couldn't help but notice just how good Dave smelled, clean and strong, nothing fancy, no cologne that assaulted her nostrils, just Dave, that fresh, mild just showered smell with a hint of citrus and oddly enough something else, something different. Something that brought to mind a vision of long hair, torn denim, tanned skin and laughing blue eyes with a smile to match. 

Strange now that she thought about it, it wasn’t just the style of the shirt that reminded her of Chris, sure it was Chris’ style, the sort of thing he’d wear but she couldn’t remember actually seeing him in it. Yet she was sure she had, at some point, or maybe it was the warmth in the air, the comforting feeling of togetherness, of friends that made her think of Chris, that fooled her sense memory in to believing she could actually smell him on Dave’s shirt.

“How’s Chris?” Dave asked.

“Are you reading my mind now?” Amy grinned.

Dave shrugged, pulled Amy closer and smiled at the camera.

“He’s having trouble sleeping.” Amy looked up at David and noticed the shadows under his eyes. 

“I guess he’s not alone.”

Chris had told Amy when she’d called him earlier, after she’d dragged it from him that is but Amy had heard the tiredness in his voice, the sigh, the pause before answering when she’d asked how he was. She could almost picture him, shoulders slumped, one leg bent at the knee, one tanned hand cupping the back of his neck, kneading tired, sore muscles, he couldn’t fool her any better than Dave could. Sure, he could tell her all about his heavy workload, the travelling, having to lift heavy music equipment, the late night celebratory drinks with the boys but she wasn’t buying it. He could make whatever excuse he wanted but those who know him well, who loved him knew the truth, knew that he couldn’t sleep without strong arms holding him close, without a long muscular limb curled possessively over his hip, a hand stroking his ribs, the other holding him tight.

Amy knew the truth but she played at being polite, dropping the odd hint here and there about how tired Chris looked, how he was travelling on the road with his band, different town every night, different scenery filled with different faces. Nevertheless, she held back from telling Dave none where the face Chris longed to see, none had that deep familiar voice he longed to hear, the one to tease him awake and whisper "Morning lover ..." And Amy knew how much Chris missed that.

“He misses you …”

Dave missed him too, missed that low voice, the sound of that southern drawl as Chris whispered against the back of his neck, the feel of his hot breath caressing his skin, long strands of hair brushing lightly across his chest. Yeah he misses it, he does and he knows it because just thinking about it makes him hard, stirs up memories of hot nights, tangled sheets, curtains blowing in the breeze from the open window, the cool night air licking against sweat soaked skin like a soothing balm and Chris, there next to him, reaching for him, holding him ...

Dave missed Chris so much he had to go to the rest room, because thinking about Chris; naked save for a sated, sleepy smile, smelling Chris on his skin, his hands was more than he could take right now, more than his body wanted to take, not unless Chris was doing the taking. And so what if the rest room was too small, wasn’t exactly a room for two, when for one brief moment Chris is there, when Dave closes his eyes, leans his head back against the cool tile, Chris is there, with him, holding him, whispering to him and that's all that matters. Not the crowds waiting for their signings, not the organisers ushering them along, not the sound of someone splashing water on the other side of the door, or the fact that his jeans have too many buttons, not even Amy because behind Dave's eyelids, in Dave's mind Chris is there, whispering to him low and throaty. Whispered promises cloaked behind the thin veil of his closed eyelids, words of want, of need. And it's not his own hand that wraps tightly around his aching erection, it's not his fingers stroking its length, slow and rhythmic, it's Chris', his Chris, whispering, come for me Dave, that’s it baby, come now, you know you want to, you know I want you too. It’s Chris, his Chris, reaching for him, holding him, wanting him, needing him ...

Amy knew Dave missed Chris, knew by the look in Dave's eyes when he returned, knew by the slight shake of his hands when he pulled her close, by the sweet smell of temporary satisfaction that clung to Dave's skin, his clothes, his shirt. She knew when she saw the stain that marred the shirts pressed clean look of only moments ago as it hung loosely over the waistband of Dave's jeans, knew without a doubt that Dave missed Chris.

And later when she was leaving, when Dave hugged her at the door, clad in the white T-shirt she'd seen earlier beneath the shirt, the shirt he now held tightly in one hand as he held her close. Knew when she took the shirt from Dave without being asked, without a word exchanged, just a knowing smile, a nod of understanding that Chris would sleep tonight because Dave would be there, somehow, someway, even if it wasn't in person, he'd be near Chris.

And it was worth it, to see the smile that tilted Chris' lips, see the tired look gone from his beautiful face, see the confident swagger back as he strode across the room to greet her. Knew when she saw the shirt clinging lovingly to his shoulders, and smelled Dave as Chris held her tight, just as she’d smelled Chris the day Dave did the same, knew when he whispered thank you in that low husky drawl that could only belong to Chris. 

Amy knew that to the casual observer it was only a shirt but to some, it was so much more.


End file.
